


Unconscious Desires

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drunk Sex, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Athos is tricked into thinking he's slept with Porthos whilst drunk as a fairly unkind prank by Aramis, except it turns out that Athos isn't as horrified at waking up with a man as everyone expects, and when Porthos realises Athos is actually rather nice, they end up dating. But Athos is still oblivious to how it all started, and nasty truths have a way of coming out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: in the context of the story Athos is ultimately okay with it, but he is made to believe he's had sex whilst drunk that he doesn't remember happening.

"Look at him." Aramis sat back in his chair and gestured disgustedly with his glass. "Drunk as a skunk and still the women are round him like flies."

In the seat opposite, his friend and work colleague Porthos looked over at the man Aramis was indicating with amused interest. "That sounds distinctly like jealousy to me," he said with a smirk. 

"It's bloody not!" Aramis lied indignantly. 

"Who is he anyway? What's he ever done to you?" Porthos asked, entirely used to Aramis' rants and not really taking much notice.

"Athos? Old friend," said Aramis, somewhat to Porthos' surprise. "I was at uni with him. He shagged his way through that, and all."

"But you're not jealous?" Porthos teased. "Not remotely?" Noting that the object of their attentions now had a stunning dark-haired woman sitting on his lap feeding him sips of what looked like either gin or vodka, but almost certainly wasn't water.

"I just think he should have more self-respect. Someone should teach him a lesson," Aramis grumbled. "Get him to knock off the drinking before he does something he regrets." 

"Like what?" Porthos asked, starting to feel vaguely sorry for the man at being the object of Aramis' rather hypocritical polemic.

Aramis shrugged. "I dunno. Gets someone knocked up, or catches something horrible. Look at him, he hardly knows which way's up. One of these days he's going to end up bent over a sink in the gents being buggered by a big hairy trucker called Malcolm. And it would serve him right." 

Porthos sniggered. "If you know one, hook me up?"

Aramis eyed Porthos thoughtfully. "You know, I've got an idea," he ventured with a slow smile. "How would you feel about helping me out with a little prank?"

"Why do I get the distinct feeling this is going to involve me doing a trucker impression?" Porthos asked. "I'd rather not be done for assaulting someone in the bogs, thanks all the same."

"No, no, nothing like that," Aramis assured him. "He's my mate after all, I hardly want to hurt him, do I? Just - give him a little shock." He looked speculative. "Look, by the time Athos gets home he'll be wasted, chances are he'll pass out straight away. And I've got a spare key to his flat, 'cause the stupid bugger's always locking himself out. What do you say to just - getting into bed with him? He'll wake up next to you and have the world's biggest freak-out."

"And that's supposed to be funny?" Porthos asked rather dubiously. 

"Funny? It'll be fucking hilarious," Aramis urged him. "Go on. Maybe it'll teach him not to get so shitfaced he blacks out."

"And when he calls the police on me?" Porthos frowned. Aramis waved his concerns away.

"Well obviously you can tell him the truth after a bit. Just bluff it out long enough to give him a scare. What do you say?"

Porthos' first instinct was to refuse, but he was quite drunk himself by this point and Aramis was very difficult to say no to in this kind of nagging mood. Maybe it would be kind've funny, he conceded. And besides, if Athos went home with any of the women he was currently draped over, it wouldn't be possible in any case. 

Contrary to appearances and slightly to Porthos' surprise, when chucking out time came around Athos kissed at least three different women goodbye but set off for home on his own. 

Porthos and Aramis followed at a discreet distance, but Athos was clearly oblivious to his surroundings and frequently bounced off railings and walls as he went, at one point apologising to a telegraph pole.

Arriving at their destination, after some considerable effort Athos finally managed to get his key in the door and disappeared inside. Aramis pulled out his own keys and slipped a couple off the ring. 

"Here you go," he said in a low voice. "That one's for the front door, and the other's Athos' flat - he's on the second floor. Apartment 3B. Give him a few minutes to fall asleep then do your stuff."

"He's not likely to take me for a burglar and shoot me is he?" Porthos wondered apprehensively. 

Aramis clapped him on the back cheerfully. "You saw the state he was in. He'll be dead to the world, I guarantee it. Let me know how it goes, eh? I want a blow-by-blow account. If you can get a photo of his expression, so much the better."

Still harbouring certain misgivings, after a while Porthos let himself into the house and made his way up to the second floor. It had obviously been quite an impressive dwelling at some point in the past, but had been divided up into flats, two per floor. He found flat 3B and listened at the door for a second before knocking softly. 

When there was no response, Porthos eased the key into the lock and let himself in. To his relief Athos had left the light on in the hallway, he'd been afraid he'd have to grope his way round unfamiliar rooms in the dark. 

"Hello?" he called out quietly. If Athos was still up, he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to explain his presence, but it was better than walking in on him unawares. Apart from the distant hiss of a refilling water cistern the flat was silent, and he carefully crept further in.

A pair of shoes lay haphazardly discarded in the hall, and Porthos found they were followed further along by a pair of socks, a pair of jeans, and a shirt. The trail of clothes lead him to a bedroom door with a t-shirt hanging off the handle, and a pair of pants lying on the carpet just inside.

Beyond, Porthos could just make out the shape of a man lying in the bed, who judging by his deep and steady breathing was fast asleep.

"Athos?" he ventured quietly. The sleeping figure didn't move, and Porthos sighed. It was now or never. It occurred to him that he could just go home and tell Aramis he'd done it, although that would be rumbled as soon as Aramis mentioned it to Athos afterwards.

On the other hand, it was a fairly harmless joke, and home for Porthos was quite a long walk in the other direction, whereas if he went through with it he could get into bed right now.

Making his mind up, he quickly took off his clothes and left them strewn across the floor in an approximation of someone who'd undressed in a fit of frantic passion. Pulling back the duvet, he slid carefully into bed next to the happily slumbering Athos and closed his eyes.

\--

When Porthos awoke it took him a moment to remember where he was. As recollection returned in the absence of the beer buzz from the night before it brought with it a certain sense of alarmed embarrassment, and he sat up with the intention of making his escape as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately Athos chose that moment to wake up himself, and their eyes locked across the pillow.

Figuring he might as well go through with it now he’d been caught, Porthos gave him a sheepish grin. “Morning.”

Athos was staring at him like a rabbit in the headlights, and Porthos wondered what was going through his head. 

“Athos?” he prompted, when Athos continued to do nothing but stare at him fixedly. “Are you okay?”

Athos opened and closed his mouth a few times, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, I, er - ” he mumbled, lost for words and clearly desperately trying to recall the night before. “Oh God. Sorry.” 

“What for?” Porthos asked with a curious frown. This wasn’t quite the reaction he’d been anticipating, and not the one Aramis had predicted either, he guessed. Athos wasn’t having hysterics or looking scared or disgusted – in fact he just looked embarrassed.

“I, er- I can’t remember your name,” said Athos quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

As he’d never known it in the first place, this wasn’t surprising. 

“That’s alright. It’s Porthos.” Porthos smiled at him. “Is everything alright? You look a bit – confused.” He’d been going to say freaked, but he realised that wasn’t true. For someone who’d just woken up in bed with a complete stranger Athos was in fact remarkably calm. Maybe it happened a lot, Porthos thought. Although presumably it was normally with women.

“Did we – last night, did we – you know?” Athos asked hesitantly.

“I’ll say! Don’t you remember?”

Athos looked wretched, and shook his head. “Sorry, no. I can’t remember anything. I don’t even remember getting home.” He winced, rubbing his temples. “Where did we - ?”

“We met in The Wren,” Porthos told him. “You were well up for it. You really don’t remember?”

Athos shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “God, what must you think of me?”

“I should be the one apologising,” Porthos said, reflecting that that was about the first truthful thing he’d said since waking up. Athos looked at him curiously, and he shrugged. “If I’d realised you were that drunk...well, I guess I wouldn’t have taken you to bed.”

Athos waved his apology away with a feeble gesture of dismissal. “Don’t worry about it,” he sighed. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“Don’t know when to stop, eh?” Porthos said, but Athos gave him a surprisingly sad look.

“Oh, I know exactly when I should stop,” Athos said softly. “I just can’t.”

He looked suddenly so miserable that Porthos reached out instinctively to put an arm around him. To his surprise Athos leaned into him without protest, at which point Porthos remembered they were both naked. Startled, he almost froze, then remembered that as far as Athos was concerned they’d just had sex and there was no reason not to be intimate with him.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Porthos gathered Athos into a hug and automatically kissed him on the forehead. He was at a loss to know what to do. This wasn’t panning out at all like he’d anticipated, and all he seemed to have achieved was making Athos sad. But to tell him the truth now – how awkward would that be? They were sitting there with their arms around each other, stark naked and vulnerably honest – at least in Athos’ case.

“I’m sorry.” Athos finally pulled away, looking embarrassed again. “I’m being a dreadful host. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Porthos blinked at him, taken by surprise. “Uh. Yeah. That’d be nice, thanks.” Before he could look away Athos had climbed out of bed and Porthos was suddenly presented with a full frontal. He knew he was staring, and Athos’ blush said that he’d noticed, but although he picked up his dressing gown he didn’t put it on until he’d left the room.

Porthos flopped back against the pillow and groaned. “Aramis you cunt,” he muttered under his breath. “What have you got me into?” 

He should make his excuses and leave. No, he should tell Athos the truth and let him throw him out. What kind of bastard let a man go on thinking he’d had drunk sex with a stranger? The kind of bastard who made him think it in the first place, Porthos realised with a wince of shame.

Porthos got up and pulled his boxers back on, venturing out across the hall and into the bathroom where he took a much needed piss and washed his hands and face. Having made up his mind to get dressed and leave, as he emerged from the bathroom Athos was coming back with two mugs of tea.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if you wanted sugar?” Athos said, handing him one of the mugs before he could decline.

“Oh, er, no, thanks.” Porthos took a deep breath. “Look, I should go.”

“You don’t have to?” Athos said, blindsiding him again. “Come back to bed and drink your tea, at least.”

Porthos found he was following Athos obediently back into the bedroom. “You don’t even remember last night,” he pointed out. “You can hardly want me to stay?”

“Doesn’t mean I want you to go either,” Athos pointed out, and Porthos realised with a faint shock that Athos was discreetly checking him out.

Porthos gave in and climbed back into bed beside him. For a while they sipped their tea in a surprisingly comfortable silence, then Athos looked round at him cautiously.

“Can I ask you something? I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, I guess I just have to know, or I’ll fret. We did, um – we were safe, right? Last night?”

Porthos caught on and nearly choked on his tea. _Oh for God’s sake tell the man the truth,_ he told himself fiercely. _He’s worrying about having unprotected sex with strangers and it’s your fault._

“Yeah, course we were,” Porthos heard himself say instead. “Don’t worry, I used a condom.” He winked. “Two.”

It was Athos’ turn to choke on his tea.

\--

Half an hour later Porthos was dressed and saying his goodbyes. He’d decided by now that to tell Athos the truth would be more humiliating for him than to carry on believing the lie, which he seemed surprisingly sanguine about. 

“Well, thanks for the tea, eh?” Porthos smiled at him. “And the rest. See you round I guess.”

“Actually,” Athos hesitated, looking suddenly unsure of himself. “I don’t suppose – I could see you again?”

Porthos stared at him. “What?”

“Well, you know, I’d quite like to spend an evening with you that I actually remember,” Athos said with a shy smile. “If, you know, if you were interested?”

“I – I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Porthos stuttered, then hated himself as Athos’ face fell.

“No, right. Of course. Sorry. Why would you?” Athos was saying, looking mortified. “What would you want with a drunken loser like me?”

Porthos groaned inwardly. “No, wait, look, okay. Yes. Why not?”

Athos gave him a wary glance. “Oh God, if that’s just pity please, don’t - ” 

“It’s not!” Porthos laughed. “It’s not. I promise. I changed my mind, okay? I like you. I’d like to see you again. How about dinner, tonight?” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. Pick you up at seven?” Porthos waited until Athos nodded, looking stunned, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Catch you later then.”

Porthos took the stairs down in a thoughtful mood. To his surprise he realised that he liked Athos immensely, and hoped that their date that night actually went well. Aramis might unintentionally have done him a favour there. The only potential fly in the ointment was the fact that their entire introduction was based on a lie of hideously epic proportions, and if Athos ever found out – well it just didn’t bear thinking about.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

“Porthos. Hey, Porthos!”

He turned in the corridor to find Aramis running up behind him, looking expectant. 

“So? How’d it go?” Aramis demanded with a grin. “Was it all we hoped for? Did he wet himself?”

Porthos shook his head with a grim laugh. “Oh mate, have you got it all wrong where he’s coming from,” he said. 

Aramis looked confused. “What do you mean? Come on, what happened, he must have been shocked?”

“At waking up in bed with someone, yeah, obviously. But he wasn’t noticeably bothered that I was a man.”

“Eh? What are you saying?”

Porthos snorted. “I’m saying it didn’t faze him. Unless he’s a truly amazing actor, trust me, the fact I was a bloke? Not an issue. Oh, here, look, you’d better have his keys back.”

Aramis took them, shaking his head. “No. No, Athos isn’t gay. I’ve known him for years. I’d know.”

“Would you?” Porthos frowned at him. “Cause I’m telling you he’s at least bi.”

“But that’s not - ” They were interrupted by their boss Treville sticking his head out of a door further up.

“Aramis! Can I assume the fact you’ve apparently got time to chat means I can now expect the report I asked you for two hours ago?”

Aramis winced. “Coming right up sir!” He looked back at Porthos as he started to jog hastily back to his desk. “We’ll talk about this later!”

For the rest of the day Porthos found himself avoiding Aramis. He didn’t want to pick over the events of the morning, certainly not at Athos’ expense, and it was also guiltily dawning on him he’d effectively just outed the man. 

When he called for Athos that evening Porthos was half expecting him to have changed his mind, but he came to the door promptly, looking nervous but hopeful. It occurred to Porthos then that Athos had probably been worrying about the same thing, and wondering if he’d turn up.

“Hello. Ready to go?” Porthos smiled at him, and Athos smiled back, looking relieved. There followed an awkward moment where they were clearly both wondering if they should kiss each other hello, but they settled on a brief hug with the minimum of fumbling.

Porthos had booked them a table in a restaurant he was fond of of the edge of the park, and by the time they were seated they were both getting on comfortably well.

“You want to pick a bottle of wine?” Porthos offered, waving the wine list at him. To his surprise, Athos shook his head.

“I’ll stick to water, I think.”

“Sure? One glass won’t hurt, surely?”

“No such thing, for me,” Athos admitted softly. “No, the only way for me to stop is not to start in the first place, and as I’d quite like to remember this evening, I’ll try to stay off it.”

Porthos grinned at him and tucked the wine list away again. “Soft drinks all round then.”

“You don’t have to not drink on my account,” Athos said hastily. “It won’t bother me, I promise.” 

“Nah, you’re alright. I’m sure they’ve got something more exciting than water though.” They ordered sparkling fruit cordials, and studied the menu.

“Are we doing starters?” Athos asked.

“I quite fancy the mussels,” Porthos admitted. “But I guess something messy and garlicky isn’t the best date food.”

Athos smiled at him. “Then why don’t we share a bowl?” 

“Yeah?” Porthos gave him a hopeful grin at the thought they might like the same things. “The wine in it won’t bother you?” he checked, but Athos assured him it wouldn’t and they ordered happily.

“So. Tell me about Athos,” Porthos said while they were waiting for their food. “What do you do?”

“I work for an auction house,” Athos told him, and Porthos cackled delightedly.

“What, not the man with the little hammer? Going once, going twice, sold to the lady with the big hat and the twitch!” Porthos declaimed, waving an imaginary auctioneer’s gavel around.

Athos laughed. “No, I’m not front of house. I do valuations, and get the lots ready for sale.”

“That must be interesting,” Porthos said. “I just work in an office, it’s dull as tits. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve had on sale?”

Athos considered. “We had a collection of Regency sex toys once,” he admitted. “Trust me, your eyes have never watered as much as when faced with a dildo made of wood and leather.” He made a circle with his hand to indicate an alarming girth, and Porthos cracked up.

The meal was a rousing success. They followed the giant cauldron of moules mariniere with steak frites and then a velvety chocolate mousse, and by the time they split the bill and staggered out into the warm evening they were feeling pleasantly stuffed and dozy.

They strolled slowly through the park along a winding track that would bring them out vaguely near Athos’ road, enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company. 

“I’ve never been in there before,” Athos murmured. “It’s a great little place.”

“Their roast duck is to die for,” Porthos told him. “We should have that next time.”

Athos looked sideways at him. “You want there to be a next time then?”

“Yeah. If you do?” Porthos came to a halt, and Athos turned to face him.

“I’d like that very much,” he said softly, and Porthos smiled, drawing Athos in towards him.

The kiss – their first kiss, although Porthos experienced a recurring twinge of guilt at the thought that Athos didn’t know it – was warm and sweet. Standing in the rose-scented gardens they held each other close and kissed with a soft intensity that left them both feeling rather weak at the knees.

Finding a nearby bench they settled onto it and carried on kissing each other for some time, until finally disturbed by the park keeper coming along to lock up the gates for the night. 

Making their escape with a certain amount of giggling, they walked the rest of the way back to Athos’ flat hand in hand.

They stopped outside to kiss each other again, and Athos ducked his head.

“Would you, um, would you like to come up?” he offered.

Porthos hesitated. “I’d better not,” he said, and felt bad as Athos immediately looked downcast. “It’s not you,” he said hurriedly. “I’d love to. I just – I need to be up early tomorrow, and – you know how it is.”

“Yes, of course. It’s fine.” Athos flushed, looking like he wished he hadn’t asked, and Porthos pulled him closer and kissed him. 

“Call me, yeah? We’ll do this again. Or something else. I really would like to see you again Athos.”

Looking happier, Athos agreed and they kissed each other lingeringly goodnight. As Porthos walked away he reflected that there was something of a supreme irony about the whole thing. He actually wasn’t one for jumping into bed with someone on a first date, preferred to get to know them first, and here was Athos assuming they were already lovers. If he’d taken him up on his offer it wouldn’t have been fair on either of them.

Porthos sighed. The whole thing was a mess, but it was one of his own making, and it was up to him to pick his way through it.

\--

At the weekend they made arrangements to meet up for a drink, and were both so punctual they bumped into each other on the street outside the pub. This time they kissed each other hello without hesitation, and walked inside together.

As his eyes acclimatised to the dim light inside, Porthos suddenly realised with horror that Aramis was sitting at a table between them and the bar. He’d been avoiding talking to him at work all week, and it was with a sick lurch of his stomach that he remembered Aramis didn’t know he hadn’t told Athos the truth – and Athos didn’t know that he and Aramis knew each other.

Seeing them, Aramis had got to his feet with a puzzled expression. 

“Aramis! Hello. I’d like you to meet Porthos,” Athos said, oblivious to the fact that behind him Porthos was shaking his head urgently and making severing gestures with his hand across his throat.

Confused but willing to play along, Aramis nodded to him. “Er – hello.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” Porthos said thankfully, and shook his hand.

“Shall I fetch us some drinks?” Athos asked. “What would you like?”

“Er – glass of red?” Porthos asked, and Athos nodded, checking that Aramis didn’t want anything and heading for the bar.

“Porthos?” Aramis hissed “What the fuck’s going on? What are you doing with Athos?”

Porthos looked awkward. “I’m dating him.”

“You’re what?” Aramis asked incredulously.

“Shh! Keep your voice down.” Porthos threw a nervous look at the bar. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Aramis shook his head. “How did it even come about? Are you telling me you both had a good laugh over it? I didn’t think Athos had that good a sense of humour.”

Porthos looked more wretched than ever. “He doesn’t know it was a set-up,” he confessed in a low voice. “I never told him.”

Aramis blinked. “What do you mean you never told him? He woke up with you in his bed, didn’t he want an explanation?”

“He thinks we slept together,” Porthos admitted. “That was the idea, right? Your idea.”

“Well yes, but I didn’t mean for you to string him along for days,” Aramis said, looking faintly shocked. “Isn’t that rather unkind?”

For a second Porthos was speechless at the sheer unjustness of this. “I’m not stringing him along,” he managed finally. “I like him, okay? And he likes me. We’re seeing each other.”

“Oh, wait, I get it,” Aramis declared. “This is a wind up, isn’t it? What, he convinced you to help get his own back on me?”

“No.” Porthos shook his head in quiet frustration. “I’m telling you, it’s all for real.”

“Apart from the part where you didn’t actually sleep with him?” Aramis pointed out dryly, and Porthos looked desperate.

“You can’t tell him. Promise me Aramis, please? If he finds out now he’ll hate me forever.”

Aramis sighed. “Oh, alright. But I think you’re making a huge mistake. Apart from anything else Athos is a drunk and a womaniser, and I say that as a friend.” He frowned. “And while we’re at it, why the hell did we have to pretend not to know each other?”

“I dunno,” Porthos sighed. “I panicked. Anyway, you’re wrong about Athos. And he’s really trying, with the booze.” 

Athos came back with the drinks at that point and they both hastily shut up, although Porthos felt vindicated to notice that Athos seemed to have bought himself a coke. 

“Sorry, took ages to get served,” Athos said apologetically. “Didn’t mean to abandon you together like that.”

“That’s okay, turns out we both work at the same place,” Aramis said, and Porthos flashed him a grateful look. 

“Small world, eh?” he laughed, but Aramis was still speaking and his next words to Athos wiped the smile off his face.

“So. You like guys now, huh? That’s new.”

Athos froze then looked up at Porthos, flustered and wide-eyed. “Oh. You, er, you told him that – that we’re - ?” 

“Yeah, sorry, should I not have?” Porthos asked, thinking dismally that he was making this more complicated at every step and maybe Aramis was right and he should have left well alone.

But Athos, although clearly embarrassed, shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I guess. I just hadn’t – it is fine, isn’t it?” he asked, looking warily at Aramis. “You don’t mind?”

Aramis, who’d apparently still been harbouring suspicions this was some elaborate revenge wind-up, looked taken aback. “Er – no, of course I don’t mind. None of my business, anyway. I just thought you were – you know. Into women. In a big way. Like – constantly. For years.” 

Porthos glared at him, but Athos just shrugged. “People change,” he said carelessly, and Porthos slid a protective arm round him.

“Come on, let’s grab a table,” he said, and nodded deliberately to Aramis. “Nice meeting you.” 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of the evening Porthos was mildly tipsy but Athos had stuck to coke all night, and Porthos, having seen him at his drunkest, felt somehow ridiculously proud of him. Walking Athos home, this time when they paused to kiss on the doorstep, on the spur of the moment Porthos accepted his invitation to come inside.

The flat was much as he remembered it, and they lingered over a coffee in the kitchen for a while, before Athos tentatively suggested they might move into the bedroom. Porthos, by now utterly smitten, didn’t object.

They undressed each other, pausing frequently to kiss with increasing urgency. As they climbed into the bed together Athos shyly offered up the condoms and lube that he’d bought and Porthos tackled him into the sheets, plastering him with kisses until Athos lost his painfully self-conscious expression and hugged him back, laughing.

As they lay entwined, kissing and pushing lazily against each other, Porthos propped himself up on one elbow and drew a finger down Athos’ chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Athos captured his finger and kissed it.

“Is this your first time?”

Athos looked confused. “You know it isn’t?”

Mentally kicking himself, Porthos quickly amended his question. “I meant – with me, generally. Am I your first? After what Aramis said earlier – I just wondered.”

“What did Aramis say?” Athos asked, looking more confused than ever, and Porthos wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much, he was getting mixed up with how much of the conversation Athos had been present for.

“He just seemed surprised you were dating me,” Porthos said hurriedly. “Being a man, I mean.”

Athos rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “You’re not my first,” he said quietly. “I lost my virginity when I was seventeen. To a man,” he clarified, glancing at Porthos, who nodded attentively. Athos sighed. “I was a typical horny teenager, desperate to lose it to the first person who came along. I should have waited. Found someone who cared about me. Who cared about the fact it was my first time. But I didn’t.”

Porthos frowned and wriggled closer, stroking a hand over Athos’ belly under the covers. “He hurt you?” Porthos asked.

Athos nodded, then shook his head, and sighed in vague frustration. “I mean – it wasn’t this great traumatic event,” he said. “But yeah. I didn’t enjoy it. And from that, I told myself that if I didn’t like gay sex then it must mean I wasn’t gay, and so I started sleeping with women in an effort to convince myself I was straight. Except women really didn’t do much for me, and I found I could only get it up if I was drunk. So I started drinking. Heavily. And the more I drank the more sex I had, and the more sex I had, the more I needed to drink. And none of it was making me happy, but I couldn’t stop, any of it.” 

Athos turned his head to look at Porthos, and gave him a faint smile. “And then I woke up with you. Maybe my unconscious was trying to tell me something. I guess there’s only so long you can go on pretending you’re something you’re not.”

Feeling choked up and guilty and desperately sorry for Athos, Porthos took him into his arms and kissed him, soft and deep. 

“You’re not drunk now,” he murmured, letting his hand circle Athos’ hard cock.

“You’re not a woman,” Athos pointed out, smiling against his lips.

“I’ll take care of you,” Porthos promised, kissing him again, over and over. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” Athos breathed, and Porthos buried his face in Athos’ neck to hide the look of guilt that must surely be showing on his face.

He should tell Athos the truth, he knew that. But if he told him now everything would be ruined, and really, where was the harm? If Athos had been at all upset at the thought of having slept with him whilst too drunk to remember, Porthos would have confessed in a heartbeat, but he really didn’t seem bothered by it. 

Maybe this was for the best after all Porthos thought, trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing by staying silent. Right now, Athos was happy and relaxed and trusting in him, far more so than he probably would have been if he’d thought of it as their first time together.

When they finally got down to it, Porthos was careful to be infinitely gentle with him, taking his time to make sure Athos was happy and comfortable with what they were doing every step of the way. 

Athos viewed this with what at first felt like a certain tolerant amusement, but as things progressed he started looking distinctly more grateful for Porthos’ slow and steady approach. Porthos had been prepared for Athos to call a halt to things if he needed to, and repeatedly made it clear that he could, but other than a brief request to pause for breath while he got used to the feeling of Porthos inside him, Athos was as eager a partner as Porthos could have hoped for. 

They made love for hours, entirely lost in each other and glorying in this new sensation, not simply of sex but of being with someone who seemed be exactly what the other wanted and needed. Breathless and sated, they finally fell contentedly asleep in each other’s arms.

\--

In the morning, Porthos found himself smiling at Athos across the pillow for the second time, and this time Athos smiled back unhesitatingly. 

“Morning gorgeous,” Porthos murmured, stretching out pleasurably.

“Morning.” Athos stretched too, but sucked in a pained breath as soon as he moved, wincing with discomfort.

“Athos? You okay?” Porthos asked in concern.

“Yeah,” Athos said, rather breathily. “Just a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Shit, sorry.” Porthos reached out for him, and Athos shuffled forwards to curl into his arms. 

“It’s strange,” Athos mused. “I don’t remember feeling it afterwards like this the first time.”

Porthos bit his lip, glad Athos couldn’t see his face. “You were drunk that time,” he said awkwardly. “Probably a bit more relaxed.”

“That must be it,” Athos agreed, much to his guilty relief.

“Does it hurt?” Porthos asked sympathetically. “Would you like me to run you a bath or something?”

Athos shook his head, craning his face up for a kiss. “It’s not that bad. I’m just – very aware of it, shall we say?” he said with a self-conscious smile that made Porthos pepper kisses all over his face. “It’s quite nice in a way,” Athos admitted. “Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” Porthos promised. “Maybe next time we should try it the other way round though, what do you reckon?”

“You’d be okay with that?” Athos asked in mild surprise, and Porthos nodded vigorously.

“Why should you have all the fun?” he grinned.

\--

For the next few weeks, all went well. They saw a lot of each other, spent a lot of nights together, and settled into a happy pattern of generally being there for each other. Porthos found that Athos filled the restless space in his heart, that for years had been flitting from one partner to another seemingly without knowing what it was looking for. Being with Athos felt like he’d come home, and Porthos quietly adored him for it.

Athos, for his part, found he didn’t feel the urge to drink nearly as badly when he was with Porthos, didn’t _need_ to. The nights he did drink, he had Porthos at his side to see him home safely, and to guide him good temperedly away from both the lure of the row of optics, and the women that occasionally appeared at his side and attempted to lead him off.

Athos’ women in fact turned out to be a source of some amusement to Porthos, who quickly discovered that none of them seemed particularly surprised he’d ended up with another man, and seemed to be lamenting his loss as an amenable drinking partner more than as a lover. He suspected that Athos hadn’t been sleeping with nearly as many of them as Aramis thought he had.

Aramis. Aramis was the one fly in the otherwise contented ointment. For some reason he viewed their flourishing relationship with something approaching open irritation, and Porthos was at a loss to understand why. It could hardly be homophobia, Aramis had known him for a good couple of years, and always been sympathetic to Porthos’ previous invariably disastrous relationships.

Eventually Porthos collared him one Friday afternoon as they were about to leave work.

“Aramis, can we talk?”

“What about?” Aramis asked shortly, pulling on his jacket. “Shouldn’t you be off banging Athos anyway?”

Porthos sighed. “You really hate the fact we’re together, don’t you?”

Aramis paused halfway out the door and looked back at him. “No,” he said quietly. “I hate the fact I’ve lost both my best friends.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked, taken aback.

“I mean I never see Athos any more because he’s always with you,” Aramis admitted. “And even if I could I’d be too afraid I’d let something slip that I’m not supposed to know. And I can’t go out drinking with you any more, because thanks to you we’re not supposed to know each other. There’s shit going down in my life as well you know, but it feels like I’ve lost all my shoulders to cry on.”

Porthos stared at him mournfully. He’d been so afraid of screwing up his chance with Athos that he’d never noticed how badly he was hurting Aramis in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “Look, why don’t we go for a drink? Athos is going out with his work tonight, it’s somebody’s leaving do. I was supposed to be going along, but I don’t have to, I’ll text him. Let’s go to the pub instead and you can tell me all about your troubles.”

\--

Three hours later, Porthos was starting to regret his charitable impulse. He’d forgotten exactly how sorry for himself Aramis could sound at times, particularly when complaining about how problems entirely of his own making were so unfair. This time round, Aramis had managed to get himself mixed up with a married woman who was currently going through a pregnancy scare, and his levels of self-pitying angst were currently off the chart.

Still, it was marginally preferable to having to sit through dinner with a bunch of people he didn’t know, so Porthos fetched another round in and resigned himself to another hour of nodding sympathetically. 

He was about an inch into his fourth pint when a group of people piled in the door behind them, loudly drunk, but cheerful with it. Looking round incuriously, Porthos suddenly realised that one of them was Athos, and this must be the works party coming out of whichever restaurant they’d been to.

Athos spotted him at the same time and looked surprised, weaving his way over a little unsteadily. Porthos’ heart leapt into his mouth, but to his relief Athos didn’t seem perturbed at finding him with Aramis.

“I guessed you got a better offer,” Athos smiled. “I didn’t expect it to be Aramis.”

“We, er – we got talking,” Porthos said, his heart rate calming a little as Athos seemed entirely accepting of the situation. There was no reason he shouldn’t, Porthos reminded himself, it wasn’t as if they were doing anything wrong. 

“Mind if I join you?” Athos asked. “I think they’re moving onto shots, and I suspect that would be a bad idea in my case. I’ve drunk too much wine as it is.”

Porthos immediately pulled out a chair for him, and Athos sank into it with a tired and grateful groan. 

“Thank you. I hope I’m not interrupting?” 

“Not at all,” Porthos said quickly, and Aramis shrugged. 

“Porthos’ll probably be glad of the respite. I’ve been laying all my woes on him.”

“What woes?” Athos asked, and Porthos snorted. 

“Oh God, don’t encourage him to start again.”

Athos looked curiously between them, perhaps surprised at how familiar with each other they’d become on what, to him, must seem a very brief acquaintance. 

Aramis made a face, and started explaining his predicament all over again. 

Athos, it transpired, was a lot less inclined to be sympathetic than Porthos had been. 

“Well what the fuck were you expecting?” he demanded, when Aramis complained that even though Anne might be carrying his baby she was still refusing to leave her husband. “Maybe she loves him. Besides, even if she did leave, how could you ever trust her? She’s having an affair with you Aramis. How could you know she wouldn’t have an affair with somebody else later on?”

“Don’t you talk to me about love and trust,” Aramis slurred angrily. He’d drunk six pints in the time Porthos had drunk three, and was increasingly maudlin about everything. “You know fucking nothing.”

Porthos sat bolt upright in his chair, going cold. “Aramis, I think you’ve had enough,” he said hastily. “Why don’t we get you a taxi?”

“Shut up,” Aramis snapped. “You don’t get to talk to me about doing the right thing.”

“I wasn’t,” Porthos protested. “I don’t care who you’re seeing.”

“Aramis wouldn’t know the right thing if it slapped him in the face,” Athos declared, nearly as drunk as Aramis himself, and long used to his friend’s fits of self-pity.

Aramis jabbed a finger at him. “Why don’t you ask your precious boyfriend about honesty?” he demanded. “Couple of sanctimonious fucks, think you’re so perfect, when your whole relationship’s based on a lie.”

“Aramis, no!” Porthos was half out of his seat, but Athos and Aramis were just sitting there staring at each other, one angry, one bewildered.

“What are you talking about?” Athos looked blank. “Porthos, what’s going on?” he asked, looking up at Porthos when Aramis refused to answer, and becoming increasingly uneasy at the look on Porthos’ face. “You’re not – married or something, are you?” he asked hesitantly.

“No. No, of course I’m not,” Porthos said “It’s nothing. He’s just being spiteful. As usual.” He glared at Aramis, who glared back, but Athos was frowning.

“But – you hardly know each other?”

Aramis gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, well that was bollocks as well, we’ve known each other for years. Haven’t we?”

Porthos hung his head and nodded. 

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say so?” Athos asked, increasingly feeling like he’d lost all sense of where this conversation was going. He was reasonably certain that Aramis was straight so he didn’t think they were having an affair – but after that he hadn’t a clue.

“He didn’t want you to know,” Aramis answered for him. “In case I told you that it was all a set-up.”

“What was?” Athos gestured frustratedly “Will somebody please tell me what is going on?”

Porthos sank back into his chair, feeling the ground crumbling beneath him. “Aramis, don’t,” he pleaded, but Aramis was too fucked off to stop.

“You never had sex with Porthos,” he said to Athos with a quietly satisfied malice. “That first night, when you had no memory of sleeping with him? It’s because you didn’t. It was all a joke. You were supposed to wake up and freak out at being in bed with a big hairy bloke.” Aramis gave a bitter laugh, and drained his glass. “Except it turned out you were gay all along. Guess the joke was on us.”

Athos had got progressively paler as Aramis went on, and now got slowly to his feet. He wanted to beg Porthos to tell him it wasn’t true, but Porthos’ guilty expression spoke volumes.

“Athos, wait!” Porthos scrambled upright, knocking over his chair. “Let me explain!”

Athos just looked at him, his eyes distant as if he was in shock, or about to pass out. “Why?” he asked faintly. “What’s the point?”

Before Porthos could react, Athos had turned and walked out the door. Porthos righted his chair with a bang and glared down at Aramis. “If I lose him because of you? I will fucking kill you.”

Aramis toasted him miserably with his empty glass. “If you lose him, it’s because you didn’t tell him the truth when you should have.” 

Feeling sick, Porthos grabbed his jacket and dashed out of the door after Athos, stumbling out onto the pavement just in time to see him climb into a taxi and be driven away.

“Fuck!” Porthos looked around for another taxi but the rank was empty and no more were in sight. Athos had bagged the last one.

“Fucking – fuck.” It was a good twenty minutes from here to Athos’ flat. Porthos pulled on his jacket and started running. 

\--


	4. Chapter 4

“Athos!” Porthos had managed to tailgate somebody in the front door to the building, and was banging fruitlessly on the door of his flat. “Athos open the door! Please? I know you’re in there, the lights are on.”

There was no reply, and Porthos rested his head against the woodwork, wondering if Athos was leaning the other side, listening to him and waiting for him to leave.

“Athos please let me in,” Porthos begged. “If you don’t I’ll sleep right here on the landing, and it’ll be cold and uncomfortable and people’ll think I’m weird.”

After a second the latch finally clicked and Athos cracked the door open. He looked like he’d been crying and there was a glass of whisky in his hand, and Porthos hated himself that little bit more.

After staring at Porthos wordlessly for a second Athos turned and walked away, but he left the door open.

Relieved, Porthos slipped inside and followed him into the living room. “Athos. I’m sorry. I’ve fucked up. Just – let me explain?” he pleaded.

“What’s to explain?” Athos asked coldly. “It was – what? A practical joke?”

“At first.” Porthos sighed, perching cautiously on the edge of a chair. Athos was on the sofa, but he’d deliberately swung his legs up so there was no room for Porthos to join him. “Aramis wanted to give you a fright. He said you drank too much, and he wanted to teach you a lesson.”

Athos stared into his glass. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.” He drained half the contents in one long swallow without flinching, and it made Porthos want to cough in sympathy. 

“I was drunk myself that night,” Porthos admitted. “It seemed harmless enough. I didn’t know you, then. It was just a joke.”

“How did you get in?” Athos asked, voice level and disinterested.

“Aramis had a key.”

Athos looked up for the first time, and Porthos felt his heart contract at the expression on his face.

“Let me get this straight,” Athos said numbly. “Aramis’ idea of a joke is to let a complete stranger to me into my home, get him to climb naked into my bed while I’m asleep, and then convince me I’ve had sex with him that I just don’t remember? That’s supposed to be _funny?_ Am I missing something here?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Porthos sighed. “I’d never have hurt you though,” he added. “It’s not like Aramis was putting you in any danger.”

“And he gets to decide that, does he?” Athos finished his drink and poured another from a bottle lying within reach on the carpet. “He gets to decide what’s okay as far as my body’s concerned? Or you do?”

“It was wrong,” Porthos admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

“Fine. You’re sorry. All a big fucking joke. Ha ha. Why are you still here? You’ve explained, like you wanted. You can fuck off now.”

“No. Athos, no.” Porthos left his chair and came over to kneel on the carpet next to Athos. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Leave me alone.” Athos’ voice was shaking now. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

“I’m sorry. I never wanted that.” Porthos rubbed his face, trying to find the words to make this right. “Look, it started off as a joke, yeah. You were supposed to freak out, and after a bit I’d tell you the truth and that would be that. But you didn’t. You just sat there apologising for not remembering me, and offering me tea and you were just so – so nice. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t embarrass you. It seemed kinder to let you go on believing it than to pull the big reveal.”

“Kinder? Do you have any idea how humiliated I feel right now?” Athos asked under his breath. “Jesus Christ, the things I said, the things I did that morning. And – what, an hour later you and Aramis were dissecting everything? Laughing at me over coffee?”

“No! No, God, Athos, no!” Porthos grabbed his hand, stricken. “You can’t think that! I never discussed what happened with him that morning, I swear. I didn’t even tell him I hadn’t told you the truth until we ran into him in the pub that time. Then I swore him to secrecy,” Porthos said, shamefaced.

“Did you go out with me because you were too fucking stupid to tell me the truth?” Athos asked faintly. “Is that what this has been, one long fuck-up you were too awkward to get yourself out of?”

“No. No, Athos I like you, I liked you from the minute – well, from the minute I woke up next to you,” Porthos admitted sheepishly. “It’s all been real, every second of it since then, I swear.”

“Apart from all the lies you’ve told me.” Athos pulled his hand out of Porthos’ grip and swallowed down most of his drink. “The stupid thing is, I knew,” Athos said sadly.

“What?” Porthos looked at him in confusion, and Athos sighed.

“That we hadn’t had sex that night. What, do I really look that daft to you?” He downed the rest of the whisky and looked around for the bottle. Porthos gently took the glass out of his hand and set it on the carpet. Athos frowned at him, but didn’t protest. 

“You knew? Why didn’t you say something?” Porthos asked.

“Oh, I admit I wasn’t sure at first. But then – well, then we really did sleep with each other. And I realised – the way I felt, afterwards, physically – drunk or not, there was no way I’d had sex with you like you claimed.”

“You never said.” Porthos gave him a pained look, and Athos smiled sadly.

“I thought maybe I hadn’t been able to get it up or something. I thought maybe you were being kind.” He pressed his lips together and turned away, burying his face in the back of the sofa. “Go away, Porthos,” he said, voice tired and muffled. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” Porthos heaved himself up and squeezed onto the sofa behind Athos, put his arms around him. “Athos, please. Forgive me? I did a stupid thing, and I made it worse by not admitting it. But I was just so scared that I’d lose you if I did. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me Athos, please don’t throw it all away. I am so, so sorry.”

Athos uncurled slightly and looked round at him warily. 

“Tell me how to fix this?” Porthos pleaded under his breath. “Please Athos. I love you.”

Athos’ eyes widened slightly. He shifted back a little but not far, just enough to draw his knees up in front of his chest. He leaned back against the sofa cushions and stared unhappily at Porthos.

“That’s not fair,” he said hoarsely.

“But it’s true,” Porthos said. “God, Athos, I swear, it’s true. And if you can’t forgive me, then – then I guess I understand. But I need you to know how I feel. And I need you to believe that none of this was ever fake on my part.”

“What about what I need?” Athos asked bitterly. 

“Tell me what you need.” Porthos settled back next to him, not trying to touch him any more, but not moving far.

“I need someone I can trust. I need someone who doesn’t lie to me. I need - ” Athos’ voice cracked. “I need a drink.”

“No you don’t.” Porthos rested his head against the back of the sofa and gazed at Athos with eyes full of pain and love. “You don’t, Athos. You were doing so well.”

“That was when I thought there was an alternative,” said Athos, but he made no move to pick up the bottle, and Porthos felt a glimmer of hope.

“There still is,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere Athos. You can throw me out, if that’s what you want, but I am not walking away from this on my own. Not if there’s still a chance.”

“How long have you known Aramis?”

Porthos blinked, thrown by the unexpected question. “Two years, thereabouts. We really do work together.”

“I’ve known him for ten. I never imagined he would do something like this to me.”

“What, introduce you to your future husband?” Porthos asked innocently.

There was a second’s silence, then a tiny snuffle of a noise came from Athos that might just have been a reluctant laugh.

“That wasn’t funny,” Athos said sternly, catching Porthos’ hopeful look towards him.

“What makes you think I was joking?”

Athos did look round at him then, and Porthos risked reaching out to take his hand.

“Okay, so maybe it’s a bit soon for marriage talk. You need to know you really can trust me first. And it’s up to me to prove that to you,” Porthos said. “But please, Athos. Let me try?”

Athos looked torn, and Porthos shuffled closer, squeezing his hand warmly. “I love you, Athos. All you need to ask yourself – is how you feel about me.”

Athos stared down at their clasped hands, and gradually realised that he was holding Porthos’ hand as tightly as Porthos as holding his. 

“I love you,” Athos breathed. “I’ve always loved you. That’s why this fucking hurts so much. To think it was all a lie – or worse, a joke – I just wanted to curl up and die.”

“I have never been so serious in my entire life,” Porthos said solemnly. “And I swear to God what happened that morning has always been between us and no one else.”

Athos sniffed. “I suppose if I throw you out, you’ll only sleep on my landing?” he asked after a while.

Porthos nodded gravely. 

“Make the place look untidy?”

Porthos nodded again. 

“Suppose you’d better stay then.” 

Porthos closed his eyes and sent up a relieved prayer of thanks to whoever the patron saint of undeserving bastards was. Then he pulled Athos into his arms, and they clung to each other fiercely for a long time.

“Do you really love me?” Porthos asked wonderingly, much later. They were still on the sofa, but lying full length in each other’s arms and reluctant to move.

Athos nodded. “Yes. Do you - ”

“Yes,” Porthos interrupted, and kissed him on the nose. “I do. Very much.” 

Athos smiled. “I could have been about to say anything.”

“Well if it was ‘shall we go to bed’, the answer is still yes,” Porthos grinned. “I mean, technically I owe you an orgasm, right?”

Athos shook his head, then to Porthos’ surprise stood up and held out his hand to pull Porthos up after him. 

“Two,” he said.

\--


End file.
